


Repeat

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Amnesia, M/M, Mild References to Past Drug Use, Not Beta Read, Not Britpicked, Not Season/Series 03 Compliant, Post-Reichenbach
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-11
Updated: 2014-05-11
Packaged: 2018-01-24 07:40:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,282
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1596971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock comes home to find John has discovered a secret about their shared past.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>*This is my first fanfiction I've ever written, let alone posted, so please keep that in mind. It's also a lot different from what I normally write about which makes me insanely nervous. But here we go. Finally I used creative license when it came to medical facts. I don't think I make things too unbelievable, but just as a warning I'm in no way saying that I created a medically accurate representation of amnesia.*</p>
            </blockquote>





	Repeat

Now and then things would become too much and overwhlem Sherlock. Memories would creep in to whisper about the past, when the silence was so loud a whisper was akin to a shout. His mind would try to tear itself apart during those times. Repress. Remember. Shatter. Repeat. Things wouldn’t have been so bad if the past would just stay locked away.

The brain works in odd ways though. It can make one person forget with an alarming ease, while another person is haunted by constant remembrance. It really wasn’t much. A quick accident, a three day coma, and a diagnosis of amnesia. Two months later everyone – doctors, family, friends – was suggesting that he might be better off without Sherlock in his life. John without Sherlock. It had been a sickening thought but Sherlock had agreed. It had been hard not to when John had been begging for Sherlock to leave him alone. 

So Sherlock had left. Left and allowed them to erase every part of Sherlock from John’s life. As far as John knew Sherlock Holmes did not exist. During the ensuing years Sherlock had faithfully avoided all knowledge of John Watson. It had probably been easy to erase Sherlock from John’s life. They had known each other two years. Two brief years in uni, that had been the best years of Sherlock’s life, were gone. 

Sherlock had only been nineteen when he met John. They’d been paired for a project, much to Sherlock’s disgust. Surprisingly John had laughed when Sherlock had scorned John, spouted a rush of deductions, and told him that he would take care of the project. They’d become friends rather quickly even though Sherlock had been reluctant. Even after the project had ended John had insisted that they were friends and had dragged Sherlock out to spend time with John’s friends. His friends had tolerated Sherlock surprisingly well even if they were skeptical about Sherlock’s influence on John. 

One night Sherlock had been a little tipsy and was ranting about… well, Sherlock couldn’t quite remember. All he really remembered was John grinning at him with his stupid grin before kissing Sherlock. They developed a relationship that Sherlock had never thought to even desire. John had called Sherlock “Lock” in private, filmed dozens of ridiculous home videos he’d insisted were vital to their future, told Sherlock how brilliant he was, and been openly affectionate. Even when Sherlock had been reluctant to reveal their relationship for fear that people would try to talk sense into John, John had held his hand or kissed him or hugged him or eye-fucked him. Since John had admitted that Sherlock was the first man he’d been with Sherlock had been surprised, and secretly relieved, to find out how open John was about their relationship. 

Then there had been a car accident that had taken that John away from Sherlock. The John that had been left had been reeling from his lost three years and struggling to deal with his dual amnesia. Long term memory loss covering three years and short term memory loss wiping his memory clean every night while he slept. The doctors had been optimistic about the short term memory loss abating but not the long term memory loss. In the end dealing with the fact that he’d been in a serious relationship with another man had been too much for John. Until finally he’d cracked. John had been encouraged to keep a journal where he’d written important details of his daily life. In the journal were entries about Sherlock. So John had yelled at Sherlock to leave him alone, in peace to regain his sanity, insisting that if Sherlock really loved him he’d just leave John alone. 

So Sherlock had. He’d left despite how broken it left him. Mycroft had discouraged Sherlock’s decision to leave. Despite Mycroft’s belief that one should divorce oneself from emotions he’d done his best to convince Sherlock to stay with John. Sherlock had asked Mycroft for a favor, just one favor that Mycroft could hold over him forever with Sherlock’s blessing, just one thing. Ensure that John Watson was able to erase Sherlock from his life. No photographs, no letters, no friends or acquaintances reminding John of his past relationship. Bribe and threaten whoever he needed to but Mycroft would ensure that John never heard the name Sherlock Holmes again. With serious misgivings Mycroft had carried out Sherlock’s wish. 

The years following John’s accident had not been good ones for Sherlock. He’d spent his time desperately trying to rid himself of all emotion. One should rid oneself of emotion in order to think logically. Drugs had been a welcome release. For years Sherlock had successfully kept his drug use secret. It was easy because Mycroft, Mummy, and Dad weren’t allowed in Sherlock’s life (before Mycroft decided Sherlock needed stalked in his daily life) and everyone else hated him. When he’d met Mrs. Hudson she’d been able to tell something was wrong. She’d insisted that he didn’t have to tell her what it was and had just… mothered him a bit while he worked her case. Molly Hooper had never said anything directly to him about it, but once he’d gotten clean the first time he’d realized the hints she’d given about it. 

It wasn’t until one day when Sherlock had encountered a new DI at the Yard that anyone acknowledged Sherlock used drugs. When they’d met Sherlock had been mildly polite and distantly abrasive, although it really had been some of his best behavior. Lestrade had looked at him and told him that he didn’t care how brilliant Sherlock was he couldn’t work cases while he was high. After months of fighting over the fact that Sherlock was not an addict but he couldn’t work crime scenes while high there was a bad night. An overdose, a call to Mycroft, and then off to rehab. Once he’d been clean Lestrade let him back on cases. 

For five years Sherlock had remained mostly clean although his behavior had become less polite and more abrasive. He hated everyone at the Yard, except for Lestrade who he begrudgingly respected… a bit, and didn’t want them to like him. He didn’t want anyone to like him. It was bad enough Molly, Lestrade, Mrs. Hudson, Mummy, Dad, and Mycroft liked him. No one else needed to be involved. 

Then one day Mike Stamford had walked into the lab at Bart’s looking like the cat who got the cream. Years had altered John Watson and Sherlock had shot out his deductions about those changes. He’d invited John to Baker Street in an offer for a flat share never expecting John would show up. But he had and he’d called Sherlock brilliant again. It’d been nice to have John back even if Sherlock wasn’t quite sure he remembered how to let someone into his life. Then John had been insistent that he was not Sherlock’s date. It had caused panic to well in Sherlock because he was afraid John would leave. His long term memory loss remained and apparently the side effects had been John being sensitive about his heterosexuality. So Sherlock had told him he was married to his work. 

It had hurt to see how shocked and disappointed John was to find out Sherlock was a former drug user. John had stayed though. John had stayed through the case, shot a killer, and moved into the flat. Sebastian, the bastard, had rambled on about uni while John had looked some mixture of amused and annoyed. He didn’t remember beating the shit out of Sebastian for badmouthing Sherlock. Didn’t know Mycroft had blackmailed Sebastian into keeping his silence. John had dated a woman, been kidnapped by Chinese mob, fought with Sherlock, and been kidnapped again and nearly blown to pieces. But he’d stayed. 

He’d been jealous of The Woman while dating someone else. He’d tried to protect Sherlock emotionally from The Woman’s games never realizing Sherlock’s emotions had never been in play. He’d dealt with Sherlock’s manic emotions, his boredom, his addictions, and his overbearing brother. He’d even forgiven Sherlock for saying that he had no friends. When Moriarty had slandered Sherlock’s name John’s belief had never swayed. Even when Sherlock had been on the roof and confessed he was a fraud John’s belief had held. The pain John had gone through with Sherlock’s faux death had almost literally killed Sherlock. 

Years went by while Sherlock tried to protect his friends. Years of being alone, hiding, disguises, torture, deaths he’d never thought to cause, fighting his addiction, giving into his addiction, getting clean from his addiction, meeting old acquaintances, repressing memories of his former life, and dismantling Moriarty’s web. When Mycroft had come to fetch Sherlock to “save London”, or whatever it was he wanted, Sherlock had been reluctant to go back. The years had made Sherlock tired. He wasn’t sure if he could be around John without giving himself away, because if there was one thing the years had proved it was that Sherlock was still desperately in love with John. 

When he’d returned John had attacked him, which had not been surprising. John had kept his distance in the beginning and Sherlock hadn’t pushed him. He knew that he’d hurt John so he let the space stay. Mycroft’s case was solved but ended with Sherlock in hospital. Of course when Sherlock had woken John had been at his side faithfully waiting for Sherlock to get better. Once Sherlock had been released John moved into 221B Baker Street and things had settled back into a normal routine. 

Until, that is, Sherlock came home to John sitting in front of the telly. On screen had been a younger version of Sherlock with shaving cream on his face. His onscreen-self glanced at the camera and murmured, “How, exactly, is a video of me shaving pertinent to our successful future?” 

“Because you’re sexy when you shave.” John’s voice had answered. 

Sherlock choked on a laugh. “How is sexiness pertinent to our successful future?” 

“Because when you’re an adorable old man we can remember how sexy you were.” 

“Adorable! I am not nor will I ever be adorable!” 

“You’re gonna be so adorable our nurse is going to have hundreds of “aww” stories to tell.” 

“Nurse? Why do we have a nurse?” 

“Don’t play dumb, Lock. You hate dumb people. We’re gonna need a nurse because if you haven’t gotten us killed before our old age you’ll have gotten us injured.” 

“I resent the implication that I’m less concerned about our health than you.” 

“Oh poor Lock. Com’ere love. I’ll give you a kiss.” John said, affection in his voice. The camera shook changing views from Sherlock to the wall. There was a deep chuckle as Sherlock warned about shaving cream before the screen went black. 

Present-day John looked up at Sherlock looking pale and confused. “What the hell is all this?” 

Sherlock winced when he realized John had the entire box of old films. This was not pleasant and decidedly complicated. Sherlock swallowed down the bile rising in his throat because this was exactly what Mycroft had warned him about. From the first time Mycroft had seen John with Sherlock on CCTV cameras he’d warned Sherlock not to let John in his life without telling John the truth about the past. 

Sherlock rubbed his eyes and nearly collapsed into his chair. Would he never be finished with his exhaustion? For years he’d lived off of nearly no sleep and now he couldn’t seem to shake the ever present weariness. He sighed before looking at John who still looked panicked. “The truth is rather unbelievable. Hopefully you’ve spent enough time with me to realize by now that unbelievable things happen more often than ordinary people would like to believe.” 

“Sherlock,” John’s voice was low and harsh, “shut-up. Just… for god’s sake. That was us! How could that’ve been us? We didn’t even know each other then.” 

Sherlock looked at John and it just wore too heavily on him. He was going to be forced to tell John the truth, John would panic even worse than he was, and then John would leave. Looking at the man he had loved and loved still Sherlock let his arms hang on either side of the chair and let out a sigh. “You loved me once you know,” whispered Sherlock. It all hurt so much. “I never thought... it never even occurred to me to want a relationship. Then there was you. You loved me and said I was wonderful. I loved you back. I loved you and I loved you and I loved you. I should have…” 

Sherlock looked away devoutly insisting to himself that he wasn’t tearing up. His mouth was not trembling and his heart couldn’t possibly be shattering. There couldn’t possibly be enough left for it to shatter again. “Things were very good for a very long time. You loved me and accepted me. I loved you and was willing to let you join the army even though I feared it would be too much for me.” He snorted, covering his mouth in horror when it sounded more like a sob. After a moment he continued, “I’d even bought you a bloody ring. I thought a ring was a little tedious but I knew you’d like it. We were young though so Mummy and Dad suggested I wait. They adored you but they knew we had difficult times ahead. 

“That’s why I wanted to marry you then. I wanted you to be undeniably mine during the hard times. I wanted to be undeniably yours during the hard times. If those were facts then I didn’t see how we wouldn’t survive the hard times. It was stupid.” Sherlock pressed the heel of his hands to his eyes. “It was so stupid.” 

“Sherlock.” There was movement as John spoke cautiously. “If that’s all true then why… why don’t I remember? I don’t understand.” 

Sherlock dropped his hands to see John sitting across from him in his chair. He looked anxious and pale and peaky. “We had a date. I was running late because I’d been to the jeweler so I called you to have you meet me. I told you some lie about some experiment I’d been doing. You were exasperated with me but agreed. There was an accident.” 

There was silence as Sherlock closed his eyes. He sincerely did not want to rehash the past. Sitting here explaining things to John was painful. John watched Sherlock stare at the floor next to John’s chair. He looked so worn out and sorrowful. “Sherlock?” 

“Dr. Watson?” John turned to see Mycroft standing in the doorway looking poised. “If you’d come with me,” his voice had that condescending boredom as he spoke, “I’d be happy to explain.” 

Molly poked her head around Mycroft’s body and smiled uncertainly. “Hi Sherlock.” 

“Molly.” He replied flatly. 

“Does everyone know but me?” John cried his voice strangled with panic and desperation. 

“I don’t.” Molly volunteered with forced cheerfulness. “Mycroft said Sherlock would explain.” 

Mycroft managed to look suitably bored although John could see the anxiety beneath the mask. “All will be explained if you would please come with me Dr. Watson.” 

John looked at Sherlock but he was staring into the fireplace. His dejection alarmed John almost as much as the videos did. He stood up a little shakily and murmured, “Yeah. Fine.” 

After John and Mycroft left Molly sat in silence with Sherlock. He wasn’t sure how long the two of them sat together but Molly didn’t bother him. That was the good thing about Molly. After her initial fidgets abated she sat in silence for as long as he wanted. It was one of the reasons Sherlock had taken to confiding in her over the years. She always waited patiently for him to be ready to talk, listened attentively, offered mildly reasonable advice, and kept it all quiet. When he finally explained things to her Molly listened sympathetically. She didn’t offer any advice because she didn’t have any. She just let him explain and pretended she didn’t notice him crying. 

When Mycroft sent a text saying that John would be spending the night away from Baker Street Sherlock sent Molly away. Molly hadn’t wanted to leave but she didn’t have anything to worry about. Sherlock was too tired to do anything more than curl up on his bed in an attempt to sleep. Mrs. Hudson agreed to keep an eye on him for her. She needn’t have bothered because Sherlock stayed in one spot the entire night. 

It was late the next evening when John finally came home. Sherlock stood in front of the windows playing his violin. He had seen John on the street and heard his approach on the steps so he didn’t pause or turn. Even after the song finished Sherlock didn’t turn to face John. What could be written on John’s face was too frightening for him to face, as difficult as that was to admit to himself. 

Softly John said, “Sherlock.” At the sound of his voice Sherlock stilled from putting his violin away but didn’t look. “Sherlock… I’m sorry. I just… I need time… to sort through all… this.” Sherlock closed his eyes and gave a nod. He would accept John’s leaving with poised calm. He would do what needed to be done to make this easier on John. It had been stupid of him to steal the last few years with John, even as friends, without John’s knowing the truth. For Christ’s sake Harry, in all of her infinite wisdom, had let the doctors convince John that his amnesia had been severely milder than reality. Some nonsensical view that it would make adjusting easier on John. 

“After… once I’ve had time. I’ll come back.” John insisted, his voice quiet but earnest. He honestly believed he would be in contact with Sherlock again. Sherlock knew the truth. The more his deception sank in for John the more John would distrust and dislike Sherlock. It really had been only a matter of time ever since that first meeting in Bart’s. Hell, maybe since their first meeting in uni. Sherlock nodded again after a silence that had lasted too long. “Okay. – Thank you for understanding. I’m just going to pack a few things before leaving.” 

Sherlock sat in his thinking pose on his chair while he listened to John moving around upstairs. The exhaustion hadn’t left him which wasn’t actually surprising. Despite his desire to sleep last night he’d been unable to do more than doze fitfully for a few minutes at a time. Finally he received a text from Lestrade. 

_Got a case for you_

Sherlock sighed heavily at the transparency of the people surrounding him. Before he could begin typing his scathing refusal he received another text from Lestrade. 

_If you don’t come I’ll just come check up on you. we both know you’d hate that. come to the yard_

It wasn’t surprising that Lestrade clearly knew what had happened. He assumed that Lestrade had known the truth about Sherlock’s history with John since The Study in Pink. Lestrade would have been viciously curious about the man who Sherlock was willing to tolerate. So he would have called Mycroft immediately to determine what they were going to do about the situation. Mycroft would have revealed it all to Lestrade because Lestrade had proven himself trustworthy and loyal to Sherlock. Also the DI would refuse to do a drugs bust without more facts. 

Knowing Lestrade’s threat to come to the flat wasn’t a hollow one Sherlock heaved himself out of his chair, wondering if he should let John know about the case. It was an odd sort of luck that had him meeting John at the staircase. John eyed him warily which hurt almost as much as John’s leaving did. It reminded Sherlock strongly of the two months after John’s accident. Sherlock believed he kept his face passably neutral as he approached though. Calmly he said, “Lestrade has a case.” 

John looked a little relieved at the announcement although a new worry crept over his features. “Oh. Um, I have to unpack. Maybe you could handle this case on your own?” 

“Yes. Fine. Good-bye John.” Sherlock said dismissively as he went down the steps. It was easier to pretend none of this meant anything to him. Pretend that seeing John Watson carrying a suitcase to leave Baker Street didn’t nearly rip Sherlock’s heart out of his chest. Pretend that he didn’t care about the look of worry on John’s face. That was all easier than collapsing on the stairs in a panic induced break down. Sherlock had experienced that when he’d left John the first time all those years ago and didn’t relish a repeat. 

  


At the Yard Sherlock walked sedately to Lestrade’s office. He didn’t believe there was a case that needed Sherlock’s expertise. It was all a ruse for Lestrade to check up on Sherlock. In his overly-emotional state Sherlock was mildly horrified to discover he was touched. Lestrade had always been there for him and looked after him. He was a constant that was oddly comforting even if Sherlock would never dream of saying so to Lestrade. The same way he’d never dream of saying to Mycroft that he appreciated as much as he loathed his brother’s overbearing concern. 

“Hello Freak,” Sally sneered. “Where’s John? Finally get scared and run off?” 

Normally Sherlock ignored Sally because her opinions and thoughts were irrelevant to Sherlock’s work. This time though he stopped because he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t have her harassing him and harass her back today. “You don’t like me.” He said flatly, not facing her. “Easy deduction. I don’t particularly care. Another easy deduction. We are not now nor will we ever be friends. Your words normally mean nothing to me, much in the same way my words mean nothing to you. Today all I want is for you to just not. Whatever you want to say or do to me I simply ask that you don’t. Tomorrow you may with my blessing. Today… just don’t, Sally.” 

He didn’t stay to see what, if any, effect his words had. In all honesty it didn’t really matter if she listened to him or not. His energy level was shockingly low but he could still ignore her. When Sherlock entered Lestrade’s office he looked up from the papers strewn across his desk and his eyes widened. “Jesus, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock rolled his eyes as he fell into a chair and said, “I hope that there is an actual case. I’ll be irritated if you only called me in here to give me your opinion on my appearance today.” 

The rest of the day Sherlock stayed in Lestrade’s office solving crimes that even the Yard could have handled easily. It was tedious and boring. Normally Sherlock would have been half mad from the pure monotony of it all. Instead he stayed holed up in Lestrade’s office solving whatever Lestrade asked him to. Sherlock knew that Lestrade had told his team not to bother them. The whole day was contrived to keep an eye on Sherlock and perhaps a vain hope to keep his mind off John. The sentiment was appreciated even while it annoyed Sherlock. 

When Lestrade finally released Sherlock he went to the park to sit alone for a while. Going back to Baker Street would be pointless since he wouldn’t be able to sleep and there was nothing to do. It would only be a visible reminder that John was gone. He made certain that he was in full view of at least one camera so Mycroft knew he wasn’t doing drugs. It was an unnecessary worry because Sherlock was too tired to deal with that. All he wanted to do was sleep for days but knew it would allude him. So he sat on the bench until dawn. 

With that dawn Sherlock forced things back to normal. He ignored Molly’s questions and insisted she help him with an experiment. He harassed Lestrade for a good case until he gave in. He made sure he angered Sally so that she would harass him and he insulted Anderson freely. He had a verbal war with Mycroft where he steadfastly refused to admit anything was wrong. Yes, his flatmate had left but flatmates often did things like that. When Mrs. Hudson asked about John he merely assured her that she would be paid the rent in full and on time. 

For a month Sherlock avoided the fact that John Watson had left him. During that time Sherlock received one text from John saying he needed to go to Baker Street to pick up more of his things. Sherlock made certain that he wasn’t in the flat when John arrived. It wouldn’t do for him to see the doctor. The little time Sherlock spent at the flat he attempted to sleep but met with little success. It was infuriating that something he had always shunned was suddenly so elusive. He could feel himself fraying from the pressure. Self-imposed lack of sleep and eating was entirely different than the inability to sleep or keep food down. 

He knew that he looked terrible. People never seemed to stop telling him exactly how bad he looked. As though Sherlock was somehow unaware that his skin had taken a grey pallor. His eyes were sunken with dark circles underneath. He’d lost weight causing his cheekbones to stand out more than ordinary. He’d completely lost interest in personal grooming. As a result his hair was greasy and flat and he’d been wearing the same clothes for a week. It was horrible and disgusting and Sherlock couldn’t be arsed to care. 

Then he arrived home one day to find John sitting in his chair. Sherlock blinked at the vision wondering if he was hallucinating. Although the more pertinent question might be whether he cared or not. Quick answer: nope. John turned to face him and his eyes widened in shock. “Christ, Sherlock. When’s the last time you slept? Or ate? Or… bathed?” 

“Four days, two days, and… three days respectively.” Sherlock made a face as he said, “That last bit’s disgusting. I suppose it does explain why Donovan complained about my smell.” 

John’s mouth quirked in what was almost amusement. “What did you tell her?” 

Sherlock shrugged, days’ worth of exhaustion suddenly weighing heavily on him. “Something about an experiment. I think I may have said something about masking my natural odor so as not to scare wildlife but I honestly don’t remember. Lestrade looked worried though.” 

“Yeah. Time for bed.” 

“What are you doing here?” 

“I came to talk to you. I should’ve known you’d be running yourself ragged.” John said pushing Sherlock to his bedroom. 

“Oh. No, sleep can wait. You want to talk John. We should talk. Stop pushing me! We’re supposed to be talking John!” 

“I’ll still be here when you wake up and we can talk all you want then.” 

Sherlock’s face lit up in a way he was too tired to prevent. “Will you?” 

John smiled softly and nodded. “Yeah. Course I will. You just get some sleep and when you wake we’ll talk.” 

Sherlock collapsed onto his pillows with a content hum. “Yes. We’ll have a talk. That’s exactly what we’ll do. Talk. It’s important to talk although I prefer to text. Mycroft doesn’t. I don’t want to talk to Mycroft. John?” 

“No, Sherlock. Just you and me will talk. Get to sleep.” 

  
Sherlock jackknifed awake feeling sore and disgusting. Good god it had been three days since he’d bathed last. What on earth had he been thinking? John was here and Sherlock was a greasy, smelly mess. Sherlock stumbled out of bed and managed to make it to the bathroom without John seeing. They could talk once Sherlock was suitably clean. 

By the time Sherlock entered the kitchen later John had prepared food for him. Sherlock ignored it because now that John was in front of him again his personal health was of little importance. “You wanted to talk?” 

“You should eat.” 

“Not hungry. You wanted to talk?” 

John huffed a laugh at Sherlock’s customary single-mindedness but relented. With a wary sigh he sat in his chair trusting that Sherlock would follow. Sherlock sat with perfect posture on the edge of his chair feeling tense and anxious. It was hateful; this whole situation was hateful. John glanced away after a moment, to the box of films Sherlock realized. “Mycroft,” he began in a careful tone of voice, “gave me more videos to watch and I decided not to ask how he got them. I made him take back his threats and re-bribe people to tell me about the past.” John cut a look at Sherlock, who was staring at him intently. “We were very in love.” 

It wasn’t quite a question but Sherlock nodded, nearly imperceptibly, anyway. John waited for him to say something, anything at all really, but Sherlock just continued to stare at him. John cleared his throat before he let out a slightly forced chuckle. “Seeing us in love wasn’t really the most shocking thing about… this. I mean it was odd but it was sort of like watching an alternate universe us living their lives. You know? Still believable. The unbelievable thing was that apparently Mycroft and I used to be friends.” 

Sherlock snorted. “You used to spout nonsense about the sacrifices he’d make and the thankless life he’d live. You were always going on and on about how much you appreciated him. Honestly it was disgusting. You even came up with a game that was a hybrid of chess and checkers. Whenever we went to see my family after everyone had played a game together you two would go off to a corner to play your stupid game.” 

John grinned, “Jealous?” 

“You were shagging me.” Sherlock said dismissively. When his words sank in he winced. It probably wasn’t the best idea to antagonize John at the moment. There was still the very real possibility that he would walk away. “Sorry.” He mumbled. 

John shook his head and managed to only look slightly uncomfortable. “Its fine, Sherlock.” He paused, licking his lips nervously during the silence. “You… in the videos, you seemed so much… lighter. We teased each other a lot.” 

“I was a young man then, John.” Sherlock said, low but earnest. “My childhood was not the tragedy that some people would like to believe it to have been. Still I was always just a little too different, a little too smart, and a little too observant for people to really like me. Despite that, during the time we were together I had never lost the life of my life, I’d never done drugs, I was rude but didn’t actively try to make people hate me, and I hadn’t associated with people I knew were poisonous for me. I was lighter because I had fewer burdens to carry. 

“You were lighter too. Back before Harry was a genuine drunk and her self-destructive course ruined her life. Before the war, before killing, before lost patients, before being invalided home.” He paused, his brow furrowing slightly. “Before you were in an accident and diagnosed with dual amnesia. Before your idiot sister was persuaded to lie to you about the extent of your amnesia. We were both lighter thus we teased more. Although honestly you are still irreparably immature.” 

“I wore clothes to Buckingham Palace thank you very much.” 

“You bumped into tourists and tried to convince them you were French and didn’t speak any English. Despite the fact that in reality you don’t speak French.” 

“That was for a case!” John cried indignantly while Sherlock grinned. It was a brief moment where the tension left and they were just themselves again. The moment passed too quickly, though, causing John’s grin to fade and his gaze to skitter away. “Well anyway… why did you deduce Harry’s gender wrong that first night? You acted so upset about it.” 

“I was upset about it. When we first met you told me I was wrong about something involving Harry. You made it a game for me to try to deduce what it was. I never quite managed to guess that Harry was short for Harriet. You didn’t talk about her much.” 

“Ah. Well I suppose that makes sense.” John shifted in his seat uncomfortably. 

He was still reeling from the fact that so much of his life had apparently been skewed. At the very least Mycroft had convinced John to stop thinking of his life as a lie. The hardest part, surprisingly, had been accepting that none of this was Sherlock’s fault. His knee-jerk reaction had been to blame Sherlock for it because Sherlock hadn’t told John the truth that day at Bart’s. That wasn’t fair though. Mycroft, the videos, and people from the past had made that abundantly clear. 

It had all been a twist of fate, that car accident. The resulting dual amnesia had been a medical anomaly. John’s confusion had been caused by memories locked in a box John had forgotten about. There had been a video of Sherlock going to visit John in hospital. Sherlock had brought the camera, explaining to Mycroft that it was important for their successful future, and tried to sound cheerful for John. It hadn’t been the first video like that but it had been the video showing John’s breaking point. It had twisted something deep inside of John to see his younger self yelling hysterically at Sherlock. In some ways John was almost glad the camera hadn’t captured Sherlock’s face during his diatribe. 

The month to adjust had given John the time to admit Sherlock was as much a victim as John himself. John found himself being much more furious at his doctors. In his professional medical opinion John felt they’d cocked things up when they’d encouraged Harry to continuously lie about the level of John’s amnesia. John remembered being in a car accident and he remembered waking up in hospital. He remembered being told that he’d lost three months to amnesia and he remembered having difficulty remembering what year they were in. Looking back he should have been more concerned by the fact that he couldn’t remember the year and had amnesia. If ever there was a time to lie to someone that was the time. But at the time John had blindly trusted his sister and doctors. 

The month had also given John time to think about his relationship with the World’s Only Consulting Detective. “Sherlock, I’ve been thinking.” Instantly Sherlock tensed and even though he was looking at the bookcase beside John it was obvious he was paying close attention. “I wondered… I was thinking that maybe… if you… er, um I just thought we could try… dating.” 

Sherlock’s gaze slid away from the bookcase and settled on John’s face. He stared intently for much longer than John would have preferred. Slowly he repeated, “Dating?” 

“I can tell from the videos that we were in love. We were practically engaged! You were proposing that night”— 

“No.” 

“What?” 

“I’d been to the jeweler to pick out your ring. I hadn’t actually gotten it. Honestly John. I couldn’t propose to someone as sentimental as you without the ring. We weren’t practically engaged. You could’ve said no.” 

“But if you went to the trouble to buy the ring you must have known I would accept.” 

“I thought there was a good chance. I was aware you might say no though because of our age.” Sherlock confessed. John studied him even though it was obviously the truth. He was just surprised that Sherlock had been uncertain about anything. “I frequently was insecure about our relationship. Hardly surprising.” 

“Well… based on what I saw I was going to say yes.” John murmured, not quite making eye contact with Sherlock. “I know that you have all of these memories of that time and you probably expect things to go back to that if we date. But Sherlock it can’t. I don’t remember that time and I’m not the same man. I can’t take you to Angelo’s and make some joke about “romancing my man”. That has nothing to do with you. I couldn’t do that with anyone because I’m just not the same. I’m not going to go out to buy a camera so I can record our life. I’m just not interested in it. I’m scared that if we start… this you’ll be disappointed.” 

“John.” Sherlock interrupted with a calm he did not feel. John stopped mid-gesture and dropped his hands abruptly to stare at Sherlock. “We were together for two years. It was two of the best years but it was still only two years. We didn’t waltz back into each other’s lives yesterday. We’ve known each other six years. I know who you are now and I love you now. That was not supposed to come out.” 

John smiled, “It’s okay, Sherlock. I love you too.” 

Sherlock looked nonplussed by that announcement. “Right. Good. Well, that’s all settled then.” 

John thought it was just a little bit adorable that Sherlock had been struck dumb. Of course he would never admit that to the man but it was the truth. “You never answered me you know. Would you consider dating?” 

Sherlock watched the doctor alertly as he reminded him, “You’re not gay.” 

“I wasn’t back then either. You’re terrible at following rules just so you know.” 

“Your sexuality is your rule. You follow it as much as you wish to. I merely spent time with you and let you accost me.” 

“Oh! Let me accost you? That’s rich!” 

Sherlock ignored his outburst and asked, “It suddenly doesn’t bother you that people will think we’re a couple?” 

John rubbed a hand over his face wishing that Sherlock would just answer his bloody question. “If we’re actually a couple then no.” 

It was obvious that John wanted Sherlock to answer his original question and was getting impatient. Sherlock didn’t know why but he was reluctant to answer it. “What exactly would we do on a date?” 

John looked up at the ceiling in exasperation, not answering for a few minutes. “I don’t know, Sherlock. What did we used to do?” 

“We’re different men now.” 

“I know that! But maybe it would give me some ideas. Please.” 

“We used to go to dinner,” said Sherlock after a brief pause. “Sometimes we’d go to the library. You’d take random books off the shelf and read until I guessed the ending. – Also we usually had sex in one of the reference aisles.” 

John’s head jerked down and his eyes widened in shock. “You’re the reason I was banned from three of the libraries at uni. You bastard!” 

Sherlock smirked and gave a casual shrug. “You weren’t angry then. You laughed hysterically. You were an adrenaline junky even back then, John.” 

“Shut it.” He grumbled affectionately. His smile faded though and he continued more soberly, “Listen Sherlock. I have no idea what we’d do for dates. Maybe… maybe a date for us would be a crime scene. Or dinner at Angelo’s. Or going to the cinema where you loudly complain about the film until we get kicked out. Or going to the library. I don’t know. The dates don’t really matter though. The part that would matter would be that we’d be a couple. A romantic couple. Please just answer my question. Do you want to date me?” 

Sherlock stared inscrutably at him for a painfully long time. Slowly he answered, “Yes.” John felt his lungs constrict so hard that he couldn’t breathe, which seemed like an odd reaction to bliss. But he had wanted this for years and now it was within his reach. And then, “But I don’t think I should.” The air rushing back into his lungs hurt far worse than the lack of oxygen had. Sherlock covered his eyes and said, “I’m tired John.” 

“You need more sleep?” It was a stupid thing to say. Of course Sherlock didn’t need more sleep. He was Sherlock. Somehow, though, John found that easier to accept than the idea that Sherlock was rejecting him. After everything the duo had been through Sherlock was going to sit in his chair and explain why they couldn’t be a couple. If John believed in karma he supposed this would be its way of paying John back for constantly saying he and Sherlock weren’t a couple. 

“No. I’m tired John. I just… I can’t. I’ve lost you so many times before. One more time will likely be the death of me. If dating… if it ends being a failed experiment and you leave I… John I can’t. I’m sorry. I just can’t lose you again.” 

Oh. Well John could see why Sherlock would think that was a legitimate concern. However John also knew how to soothe that concern for Sherlock. He sensed the surprise in Sherlock when John dropped to his knees and insinuated himself between Sherlock’s legs. Sherlock raised a brow but John ignored that because he was very firmly keeping his own mind out of the gutter. “Sherlock I don’t know how dating will turn out for us. Maybe we’ll try it and it’ll go badly now that we’re different people. But I can guarantee that no matter what we will always be friends.” 

“John,” scoffed Sherlock, “one cannot guarantee something like that.” 

“I can, actually. The universe clearly wants us to be in each other’s life.” 

“Ugh. Sentiment.” 

“Says the man who doesn’t believe in coincidences.” 

“There are literally millions of scenarios that can be played out at any given time. Why on earth would the universe bother repeating a scenario without purpose?” 

“Exactly.” 

Sherlock’s brow furrowed in confusion as he studied John’s face. He was silent for a moment as he tried to follow John’s train of thought. “Elaborate.” 

“We met in uni then I got dual amnesia and you were erased from my life. Nearly two decades later we meet again despite the relatively low odds of that happening again. We became friends again until you faked your death. Again despite the odds, despite the danger you put yourself in, you came back into my life. And I forgave you when I think most people expected me to hate you forever. The universe has clearly spoken. No matter what we do, Sherlock, we will always come back to each other in one capacity or another. There will never be a situation that doesn’t end with us eventually coming back together. As friends, or lovers, or colleagues, or whatever. You and me, Sherlock.” 

Sherlock looked uncertain but his hands were fisted into his jumper so John took that as a very good sign. Keeping the intense eye contact that they were so well known for John said, “It doesn’t matter how dating ends up for the two of us. There is nothing – nothing – that could separate us permanently. I think we’ve established that enough times for it to be considered a fact. So don’t worry about that. Just answer my bloody question. Do you want to date me, Sherlock?” 

There was a minuscule nod and he murmured, “Yes. I – yes.” 

John pulled Sherlock down for a kiss because, honestly, he was tired of waiting on it. Sherlock was there and he was alive. John was there and he knew about the past even if he didn’t remember it. They were Sherlock Holmes and John Watson and _thank god_ they were a couple again.


End file.
